Oh, Death
by allietheepic7
Summary: A mysterious figure walks up Baker Street. Oneshot, PM me if you want to adopt.


**Oh, Death**

**A Potterlock Fanfiction**

**By Allietheepic7**

Heels clicked on the sidewalk as their owner walked purposefully down Baker Street. A long, black trench coat flared dramatically behind her as her hair was swept back by a nonexistent wind. She climbed up some steps and raised a sickly pale hand to gently knock on the knocker of 221B.

"Coming!" A cheerfully old voice called out from inside and the young woman winced. The door opened to reveal a stout, aged woman in a floral shawl. "Oh my goodness, you look absolutely freezing! Come in, come in!" The dark lady stepped inside.

Ice blue eyes looked emotionlessly at the landlady. "I need to talk to Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson." Her hushed voice was spoken through thin, bloodless lips. "I have a case for them."

"Oh, you read John's blog, then! It's rather exciting, isn't it?" The perpetually happy woman led the other up the stairs and entered the apartment to the left. "John? Sherlock? There's a woman here to see you, says she's got a case!"

The apartment was in severe disarray with books and papers piled everywhere. The shadowed visitor calmly took in the skull on the mantel, the mounted buffalo wearing earphones, and the tall, dark-haired man playing the violin by the window. Another man, this one looking much like a short, blonde puppy, appeared from around the corner. The landlady put her hand on the other's shoulder. "I'll go downstairs and make you a pot of tea while you three talk business. You look like you need a good cuppa, dear."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," the blonde said, making Mrs. Hudson smile and leave. "Hello, I'm John Watson."

She looked at his hand, then into his eyes. "Yes, I know." Her mouth twitched, barely revealing her amusement. She reached into her coat and pulled out a manila folder. "Shall we get started?"

John blinked, surprised. "Oh. Yes of course… Shall we?" He gestured to a small grouping of chairs while glancing at the other man, who continued to play his tragic song. They sat. "So, what kind of case is it?"

"Missing persons," was the reply. The woman placed the file on the coffee table and John snatched it up. "Subject's name is Harry Potter, last seen October 31st, 2006 at his parent's house in Godric's Hollow, Scotland."

"It…says he was barely a year old when abducted." John looked up from the folder to glance at his friend. "He'd be about 5 now."

"This past July. His parents, Lily and James, were killed in a _gas explosion_." She said the last two words in a tone that conveyed the deepest contempt for them.

"You disagree." John said.

"Of course. Gas explosions cause fire. I was at the house the day after the "explosion" and there were no scorch marks on anything… It just looked like a wrecking ball hit it." She shook her head. "No…someone got them."

The violinist finally stopped playing and turned to stare at the Dark Lady. "That seems rather paranoid." John commented.

"No if you're right." She deadpanned. "James Potter was MI6, part of the terrorist division. He was closing in on the leader of a group called the Death Eaters. Not only that, but James was a Lord with a lot of money. It's not that far of a reach—"

"It's not a reach at all!" Sherlock snapped, glaring at the visitor as he got in her face. "It's a grasp. You know your "paranoia" is right, yet you're trying to get us to run off on a case without all the information, _what are you hiding?"_

She glared back. "I can't tell you." She said. "It's classified. If I tell you, powerful people will make me…disappear."

Sherlock drew back and started to pace in front of the armchair the woman was sitting in. "Your body is abnormally pale, so you've spent a lot of time inside lately. That, along with your apparent frailty and the fact that you're wearing heavy clothes in the summer, suggest illness, most likely terminal. Yet, despite your failing health, you risk it all just to find a little boy, why? What is they to _you?_"

"My family and the Potters have been close for centuries." She said quietly. "I knew James as a boy. It was my duty to look after little Harry, make sure he was with a good home, _and I failed._ My health makes me unable to care for the boy, but I would have found a nice couple for him to stay with. By the time I heard of the Potter's deaths, he was gone and, in 4 years, years, everything in that folder is all I've ever found." She pointed at the folder in John's hands and sighed. "I'm willing to pay a million pounds in return for you finding him."

John choked. "A million!?"

"Yes. Money means nothing to me."

Sherlock walked towards the fireplace and turned, staring at her with mocking grey eyes. "No. Missing person cases are _so _boring."

She smirked, a little tilt of her mouth. "Of course." The lady stood. "Feel free to keep the file; I have several other copies in case the secret service tries to take it again."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "Explain."

"I've tried going to the police several times already, but government officials stopped any investigation from occurring." The lady in black stepped away from the detective and his blogger and began to walk towards the door. "Including your brother, Mr. Holmes." She hovered in the doorway. "They're quite desperate to stop me." She made a move to leave.

"Wait!" John seemed to have snapped out of his shock. "You never told us your name!"

The sickly woman looked back at them, her eyes glinting sharply. "Just call me…Angela. Angela Murta."

She left the room as rushed whispers broke out behind her. Angela was halfway down the stairs when the apartment door slammed open and Holmes yelled out,

"We'll take the case!"

The left corner of Angela's mouth tilted up into a malicious smirk. "Perfect."

**This is only a One-shot. If you'd like to adopt this story idea, please PM me.**

**Merry Christmas, Sara!**


End file.
